Run: 2026-05-27-01KSMENKPZ4WW1QT40ZQC6DCDB

Molly adjusted her cat ears for the third time, peering through the binoculars at the brightly decorated backyard. The children's party raged on, innocent laughter carrying through the evening air. "Come on, Bill," she whispered, tapping her watch. "The presents are over there. Under that miserable pink castle." Bill, crouched beside her in a ridiculous striped sweater and formal pants, squinted. "That's not a castle, Molly. That's a bouncy castle. There's a difference." "Cut the semantics, 'Professor.' We have a window of about ten minutes before the cake happens. That's when the parents will be looking the other way." "And the kids? They're the ones guarding the loot." "They're five, Bill. Their security system is 'whee' and 'whoooa'.” "True. But still. Stealing from kids on their birthday?" Molly sighed, turning away from the scope. "They're rich trust-fund kids. Their parents spent more on that party than you've made in a year. They won't even notice a few missing toys until next Christmas, and by then, we'll be sipping cocktails on a beach somewhere." "For which beach exactly? The one with the coconut umbrellas or the one with the piña colada machine?" "Both, genius. Both. That's the dream." Bill shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know, Molly. This feels a bit... seedy. We're professional thieves. We hit museums, jewelers, not sugar-high preschoolers." "Professional thieves take the jobs that pay. And this one pays. With the new surveillance system here, getting into that boutique was going to be a nightmare. We need a win, and this is a guaranteed score." "Guilt-free, you mean." "Exactly. We're doing them a favor. Less rotation at Christmas, fewer toys to break, fewer presents to argue over. It's a complicated form of gift management." Bill rubbed his temples. "You have a warped way of seeing the world, you know that?" "I also know," Molly said, pointing through the bushes, "that in approximately one minute, the parent of the little girl in the tutu will be walking away to make a phone call. That is our opening." "Are you sure? It seems awfully convenient." "Augusta Fortescue inherits $200 million on her next birthday. Her parents are terrified she'll be kidnapped. They've hired extra security for this party, yes, but they've also put a giant, pretty target on top of every toy in that box." Bill watched as Augusta's mother actually pulled out her phone and walked toward the house. "And the dogs?" "Spiked with their own cake as a... sneaky display of affection. No dogs. No parents. No security." "But the kids..." Molly grinned, producing two squirt guns from her jacket. "Soak 'em." "I thought you said we weren't being mean!" "I said we weren't stealing from the kids. I didn't say we'd leave without making a big splash. Come on, Bill. This is what we do. We take from the wealthy and..." She paused, mischievous delight in her eyes. "... we give ourselves a slightly smaller tax burden this year." He looked at the squirt guns, then back at Molly, and finally at the backyard. Outside, children screamed with laughter, building a fortress of colorful presents. "Fine. But I'm not wearing the cat ears." "Too late. You're a cat now. Meow."